


Children are Our Future

by QueenMaria



Series: Grey-Dawn [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-19 12:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22111021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenMaria/pseuds/QueenMaria
Summary: A series of ficlets about the children of Skyrim.
Series: Grey-Dawn [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/700638
Kudos: 3





	Children are Our Future

**Author's Note:**

> "The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson

Elisif kept her grip gentle but secure around the small bundle, letting her arms bounce slightly to lull the baby to sleep. She watched as his beautiful blue eyes closed, still enraptured by the sight of his sleepy expression. Torvald was perfectly sleepy and content at the moment with his stomach full of milk. He never lasted long afterward.

Her Torvald was a sturdy child at 6 weeks, growing healthily at her breast. Plump, rosy cheeks had quickly begun to fill out in his face, followed immediately by his arms and legs. The nurse and Sybille Stentor assured her nearly every day that the heir of Solitude was thriving as well as any mother could hope. Aneira herself spoke the same, assuring the young mother that her experience at her father's side had led her to quite a few birthing beds and nursing babes when she lived in Bruma. All assured her Torvald was happy and healthy. Falk and General Tullius promised her that he was safe. And the General had assured her that once the rebellion was dealt with, he would stay that way.

The Dragonborn sat to the side at the moment, watching the scene with her usual serene air. The adventurer had spent a good portion of the afternoon in her company to discuss the upcoming peace summit with she and General Tullius. The General had not stayed for a meal, though Aneira had accepted the offer of sustenance.

Elisif had only just taken her son back from the warrior’s arms, content to allow Skyrim’s protector to hold him for a moment while she ate her own dinner. Her Thane had been more than happy to help, giving Solitude’s heir a warm embrace and smile as he kicked and mumbled in his swaddling cloth. Elisif had smiled when Aneira first took him into her arms, gasping as if the weight of him surprised her before clutching him closer to her chest. It was good that the woman had chosen to wear a dress to the meeting and not her usual armor, or Elisif might have protested. She still might’ve asked the muscular woman to be more careful, but then Aneira had stared at her boy with such wonder and she was reassured that the prince was in good hands.

But really, Elisif wasn’t surprised by the Dragonborn’s motherly instincts. For all her warrior's build and keen mind, Grey-Dawn’s disposition had always been kind. She'd cooed and ah'd at the babe, giving him a finger to clasp in his tiny grip while she stared into his face. Torvald would be as great a swordsman as his father had been, if the strength of his tiny fingers was anything to go by. Elisif was certain of it, and had told her thane as such.

Aneira had looked at her then, smile small while Torvald pulled on her captured finger. But she’d said she believed her, and her eyes hadn’t lied.

The young Jarl found that she quite liked the Dragonborn. She was well read, and willing to discuss all manner of topics. The red head hadn’t spoken with another woman, with a confidant, since before Torygg had been taken from her. After that, her days had been dedicated to the court and no one had been free to chat about new fashions, the flowers blooming around the city, or the latest court gossip. It was such a relief to finally have someone to share those small delights with again.

But now Aneira wanted to talk about the peace summit once more, and it wearied Elisif’s mind to go back to it. “So, this peace summit,” she began quietly, lifting her gaze from Torvald for a moment. “It’s to make sure that Ulfric doesn’t attack Whiterun.”

“Aye, my Jarl. Whiterun is vulnerable to attack right now. Once I summon the dragon, the guards will have to keep their attention on it. Jarl Balgruuf fears a Stormcloak assault at the same time.”

“But Balgruuf has refused the General’s offer of more men.” Which completely baffled Elisif. If Balgruuf was so worried about the Stormcloaks, he should be happy that the Legion wanted to help. “He should just let him position the Imperial soldiers at the city. Then Ulfric won’t attack him.”

Aneira reached for the goblet of wine she’d been given upon her arrival. “It’s not that simple, my Jarl. Ulfric does not fear Imperial soldiers. Even the slightest chance that he could use the dragon summons to attack the city is a chance too much for the Jarl of Whiterun. And given the way Ulfric has made his attacks thus far, I agree with him.”

The Dragonborn took a long pull of the wine, and exhaled heavily. Elisif watched her, uncertain. That wasn’t what General Tullius had told her when he explained why he wanted to place the soldiers in Whiterun. He’d said that Ulfric would have to be the greatest fool to attack while the Imperial legion was protecting the city.

“To be honest, Aneira, I don’t see what this peace summit is going to accomplish.” Elisif carefully shifted Torvald around as he slept. “Ulfric won’t ever give up. Not until the General defeats his army and has him executed. And it will be painful to be apart for Torvald for so many days.”

Aneira’s gaze on her was steady. “The summit is for a temporary peace, my Jarl. It’s the only way that Jarl Balgruuf will let me do what I must to defeat Alduin.” Her voice was earnest, so different from Tullius’s dry one. “Even Ulfric sees the importance of that. There won’t be a Skyrim to fight over if Alduin lives.”

“All Ulfric cares about is Ulfric and his own power. He made that clear when he used that horrible voice to kill Torryg,” Elisif’s eyes burned, and she focused her gaze back on her son and away from the Dragonborn. “A peace summit will hardly change that.”

“Jarl Elisif, once I leave to fight Alduin, Ulfric might attack Whiterun anyway.” The dark-haired woman clasped her hands over the dark wood of the table. “He knows I’m not going to join him, and I can’t be protecting Whiterun from a Stormcloak attack if I’m fighting in Sovngarde. But,” leaning forward, Aneira waited until Elisif look up again to lock eyes with the young widow. “If he gives his word before the nation that he will keep to a truce until the dragon menace has been dealt with, he dare not go back on his oath.” Aneira smiled ruefully. “Nords and our sense of honor.”

Elisif’s lips thinned, frustration blooming easily at the thought of Ulfric going free even longer. “Ulfric killed his king through trickery and deceit. He has no sense of Nordic honor.” She rose swiftly, moving carefully to put Torvald down in his crib.

Aneira rose behind her, no doubt preparing to leave, and Elisif grimaced at the thought of being alone with the court again. The young Jarl respected the Dragonborn, and wished that she could see Ulfric for who he was as Elisif did. Aneira hadn’t seen the monster come out, and she ought to listen to the people who had.

But, General Tullius and Falk had reassured her that Grey-Dawn was on their side. She just couldn’t come out and say that yet for some reason.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to snap. I know you’re only giving counsel.” Elisif moved away from the crib, reaching out to link her arm with Aneira’s. “General Tullius has asked me to go to the summit with him, and I will. Even when we all know that there is nothing to be gained from talking to that brute. But Torvald will stay here, where he is safe.”

Aneira said nothing, and Elisif turned to her again. “Dragonborn, my son is going to be High King of Skyrim someday, just like his father.” Elisif felt the truth of her words deep in her bones. The Dragonborn didn’t say anything, but she smiled softly. Her deep blue eyes met Elisif’s, and they didn’t hold any of the doubt that some of Solitude’s courtiers did when Elisif told them of Torvald’s destiny. “Men like Ulfric will never hold Skyrim. I have full confidence in General Tullius and the Legion.” Her companion nodded. “And once you’ve defeated Alduin, the rebellion will finally be put down.” Elisif guided the two of them toward her lounge, placing them both down on it. “With the Dragonborn in the Legion, those Stormcloaks don’t stand a chance.”

Aneira wasn’t looking at her, eyes glazed as she looked to the opposite wall and Torvald’s crib. Elisif did not notice her companion’s conspicuous silence.

“But I don’t want to keep discussing such serious matters. Everything in Skyrim seems so serious lately.” The redhead patted Aneira’s hand. “Tell me of all the other holds. I’ve heard you went to Markarth last month.” Elisif smiled brightly, and lowered her voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “Did you see the silversmiths? My court has mentioned that they’ve started crafting special dragon necklaces in your honor!”

Inhaling deeply, Aneira turned toward her Jarl, and told her in great detail of the silversmiths in Markarth, of the Forsworn who go into battle wearing pelt underthings, and the beautiful waterfalls and rivers that flowed through the city.

* * *

Jordis held up the green blanket, matching Aneira as they folded it carefully for storage.

“Gods know, she’s a sweet girl. She’s courteous, and it’s easy to see that she is kindhearted.” Aneira shook her head, releasing her grip to allow Jordis to put the green cover in the wardrobe. “No doubt she’ll be a good mother, too. But,” the Dragonborn reached out for the next sheet, holding it aloft for Jordis to take. “I worry. A gentle heart is commendable, but it doesn’t mean she has the constitution to be Jarl.”

Jordis frowned, lips quirking as she bent the white sheet with her Thane. “How long have you had these worries, Aneira?”

The Bruma native folded her lips, thinking. “Truthfully, Jordis, since I first met her. She bears her grief with dignity, more than most people could expect. And it’s easy to see she wants to do her best. But anyone who spends a little time at the palace can see that she takes Tullius at his word, without question.” The two women placed the last of the linens on the shelves before moving to the stairs.

“You did tell me that she came to you to have the horn placed with Talos.” Jordis offered. “If she were only under Tullius’s thumb, she’d never have dared.”

“You're right,” Aneira agreed, moving to the kitchen where the dishes sat waiting. “And it gives me hope that one day she can rule in her own right. But if the Emperor assigns Tullius somewhere else after the rebellion is over, what then?” She lifted the pot, carrying it over to the basement stairs. Jordis followed behind with the crate of used plates and forks. “She won’t be ready then. And she’s alone in that palace.” They moved down the stairs, heading to the wash basin. “Jordis, she ate up every second that we talked about simpler things. I complimented her dress, and she talked about the latest gowns from Cyrodiil for an hour.” WIth a huff, Aneira set the pot into the heated water. “The poor woman has no one to just _talk_ to. At least, not without it turning into something political.” Jordis handed Aneira the crate, and together they set to work on cleaning. “And when the discussion is political, her eyes change.” One plate received a hard scrub as Jordis watched. “Elisif doesn’t understand politics the way her advisers do, or the way Torygg must have. And she has no passion for it.”

“She was never really involved in any of it, before his death,” the blonde commiserated quietly. “We are all loyal to our Jarl, but before Ulfric killed High King Torygg, Elisif was usually only involved in festivals. She did a lot charity in the hold. The people loved her for it.” Jordis took the dish to dry. “She isn’t just called ‘the Fair’ because of her beauty.”

Aneira sighed heavily, moving through the plates efficiently as she thought.

“If Tullius leaves, she will need Sybille and Falk with her.” Aneira said matter-of-factly, turning toward Jordis for a second. “Otherwise, the city may fall toward ruin. Erikur,” Aneira said with a bite and momentarily flinty eyes, “needs to be kept at a distance. _Especially_ from the baby. We can’t let his influence taint the future King.”

Jordis hummed her easy agreement before the words registered with her. She turned her face toward her Thane more fully, blinking for a moment. “Future _king_?”

Aneira only nodded, smiling absently at the dishes. Her ears turned pink.

Jordis gave it a few moments, but then continued. “You have that much faith in him already? The child has barely a month to his name. I know Elisif’s been saying he’ll be High King since before he was born, but,” Jordis raised an eyebrow at her dark haired companion. Aneira said nothing, eyes distant and mouth quirking a little. Jordis set down her cloth to focus on her intently. “You’re not telling me something,” she said softly.

Shaking her head slightly, Aneira made eye contact with her dear friend and confidant. Whenever she thought about this secret, about what it had meant the last two months, she couldn’t hold back a disbelieving smile. “Ever since I read the Elder Scroll, I’ve been able to,” she began, her voice hushed as she paused to find the words, “ _sense_ things. Different things. That I should listen carefully to a conversation, or remember someone’s face. Or that someone is in danger, or lying.” She picked up another dish, turning from Jordis’s furrowed brow. “My mother always told me I had a gift for reading people, but this…” The Dragonborn exhaled thinly. “When I first went to Markarth, a Forsworn assassin tried to murder a woman just inside the gates. And I- somehow I _knew_ that it was going to happen. My eyes were drawn to him immediately, and I’d conjured lightning into my free hand just before he brought his knife to her back. My spell hit him a moment too late, and he still stabbed her. But the guards were upon him, and I was able to heal her.” Her hands slowly wiped the plate clean while her mind was back in the Reach. “Erandur was with me, then, and he said he’d never seen reflexes like that in all his years.”

Jordis bit her lip, reaching automatically to take the plate Aneira handed her. “It’s- are you _sure_?”

Aneira nodded, heart feeling lighter for finally telling someone else about it. “There have been other times. But after that one, I stopped denying it.”

Jordis exhaled slowly, letting her own eyes go back to the water while she moved the worn grey cloth across the silver plate. The Nord took a few moments to think, stacking the remaining dishes lightly before following Aneira back toward the enchanter’s nook.

Following her Thane’s gaze, they both stared at the Shield of Solitude hung prominently on the highest plaque.

“It’s another gift to you then, Aneira.” The Dragonborn smiled, still examining the shield. Jordis may not understand how such a thing was possible, but Aneira seemed content with her latest ability. There was comfort in that, given her nerves over learning shouts. “A gift from the Nine.”

The brunette laughed at that, and it wasn’t unhappy. “Maybe. Mara has whispered to me several times, now. Maybe Julianos is sharing his insight so that I can see things I was blind to before. Or Akatosh permits me to know things before their time. _Outside_ of time.” She breathed lightly. “Maybe that scroll just did this on its own. It doesn’t matter much to me.” Aneira looked at Jordis, grinning wryly. “Never look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Jordis laughed softly, nodding.

Both pairs of eyes were drawn to the red shield again.

“So Torvald,” Jordis began, a sense of finality settling over the two of them.

“Elisif can be the Jarl of Solitude,” Aneira answered, acceptance in every word. “She,” Aneira tilted her head, cracking her neck as she turned toward the basement ceiling. “She will never be High Queen, no matter what they’ve promised her.” There was a danger in that statement, and Jordis knew it. “If the Empire tries to push for her to be their puppet,” Aneira inhaled unhappily, and Jordis saw her jaw click. “I’ll have to oppose them. Whether or not I’m part of the Legion then.” Jordis grimaced, crossing her arms in the chill of the basement. “But Torvald,” and Aneira looked at her housecarl, smile turning genuine again. “He can be High King. And if that feeling was anything to go by, he could be a great one.” She lifted her right hand, gesturing with her pointer finger. “A great swordsman, too. When he gripped my hand, I felt the warrior inside him.”

Jordis grinned again. “So, Jarl Elisif’s dream for her son will come true.”

“It may,” Aneira replied, turning away from the wolf-faced shield. “Nothing is set in stone, anyway. But, if everything works out, if I can defeat Alduin,” the Dragonborn’ fingers twitched, “then the path is there for him.”

“You will defeat Alduin,” her housecarl said definitively. “That _is_ set in stone. So,” Jordis put her arm around her thane, “we’ll have to see if Torvald meets his destiny, too.”

Aneira smiled, letting the blonde lead her away toward the steps again.

This was just one more reason to ensure the world continued on; for a happy, healthy baby boy who deserved the chance to be great.


End file.
